


A Little Light Gardening

by GemmaRose



Series: Kinktober 2019 [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Begging, Dry Orgasm, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Marathon Sex, Master/Servant, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Rough Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Valve Oral (Transformers), spike/valve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 20:21:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20936177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GemmaRose/pseuds/GemmaRose
Summary: Cyclonus is happy to serve his Lord in any and all ways, including carnally.Especiallycarnally.





	A Little Light Gardening

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompts Praise-Kink, Aphrodisiacs, Begging, and Scent.

::Cyclonus, come to the garden.::

Cyclonus frowned, but set aside the gun he’d been cleaning and stood to follow his Lord’s command. Lord Galvatron had ordered them all to let him meditate in peace when he returned, and it had only been a single cycle since then. Lord Galvatron usually took far longer to center himself, especially since they had been sealed here with Unicron as its guardians. ::I am on my way.:: he replied as he left his quarters, heading to the large balcony which overlooked the garden behind the manor. He shut the stained transparasteel doors securely behind himself, and vaulted the railing, heel thrusters slowing his descent to the wide taconite path below. It didn’t take long to locate Lord Galvatron, the garden was not terribly large and there were few places a mech of his Lord’s stature could be concealed.

He stopped in front of the blooming diodal shrub which bracketed a small spit of pathway butting up against the back of the manor, and Lord Galvatron’s overbright optics bored into him as those shining silver thighs parted. Thick purple fingers framed his valve, and with the other hand his Lord beckoned him closer. Cyclonus’s limbs moved as if drawn on strings, his frame stumbling the scant few steps until he could fall to his knees between his Lord’s spread legs. “Service me.” Lord Galvatron demanded, voice hoarse, and Cyclonus bent quickly to obey.

Lord Galvatron’s valve clenched weakly around his glossa, and a scant few micrometers in he realized why when he ran into what felt like the base of some kind of plug. But Lord Galvatron had no need of interface aids, not when Cyclonus and Scourge willingly bent to his every whim, and he knew his Lord preferred spike stimulation besides. Perhaps some trick of Unicron’s which had befallen his Lord during patrol?

“I said _service me_.” Lord Galvatron snapped, grasping the back of Cyclonus’s helm and pressing his face harder against the bared array before him. Rather than try to respond with any sort of words, Cyclonus hummed low and pressed his glossa against the mesh lining of Lord Galvatron’s valve, probing the edges of the lumpy plug. His Lord smelt of ozone, the smell even stronger than his polish or the tang of transfluid spilled across his armour, and yet, Cyclonus realizes as he pulled his glossa back into his mouth, his valve was completely dry. Not a drop of lubricant to be found, save what came in on his glossa. Cyclonus had known mechs whose valves failed to produce lubricant, but Lord Galvatron was not one of those mechs. He was a specimen of perfection, nothing less would have been chosen to guard the chaos-bringer.

Cyclonus drew back and laved his glossa over his Lord’s anterior node, and Lord Galvatron arched up against him with a staticky cry as he overloaded. And not a drop of lubricant came from his valve. Cyclonus descended again immediately, Lord Galvatron’s fingers digging furrows in the layer of rounded taconite pellets as Cyclonus tilted his helm so that oral lubricant would flow down the length of his glossa. The less time he had to spend with his glossa out of his Lord’s valve, the better.

Lord Galvatron moaned again as Cyclonus swept his tongue over nodes buried in the mesh , smearing lubricant along pliant, heated walls. He tested the edge where the plug pressed against the mesh, and found the material interlinked with his Lord’s valve lining, as if it had been soft and then hardened. Was it his imagination, or was it softer now than it had been when he started? He probed further along the edge, curling his glossa from the lumpy face of the plug out along Lord Galvatron’s valve lining, and concluded yes, it was softening. Perhaps due to his oral lubricants?

One of Lord Galvatron’s hands landed on the back of his helm again, and Cyclonus moaned as his face was ground into Lord Galvatron’s valve, glossa swirling around what little of his Lord’s valve was available before the strange plug. Ozone filled his chemoreceptors, combining with the heady charge of his Lord’s field and the taste of the now rapidly softening plug to make his processor spin. His own modesty panel, of course, would only open at another’s touch, but the pressure of his spike unable to fully extend behind it was maddening enough he reached down to stroke the seam around the edge.

Lord Galvatron’s valve clenched again in overload, and this time the plug shifted, bowing out in the center. Cyclonus pressed his glossa against it, and the material gave, bursting sweet against his sensors in a rush of thick almost-fluid. He lapped it up eagerly, rutting his hips into his hand as the material slid down his intake to settle hot in his fuel tank, and then Lord Galvatron’s strong hands were on him, pushing him away, and Cyclonus had barely opened his mouth to ask if his Lord was satisfied when Lord Galvatron stood on shaky legs and moved around behind him. Cyclonus lowered himself to his elbows and knees, aft raised, modesty panel in easy reach for his Lord. Behind the metal his valve clenched, lubricant dribbling out to trickle up his tilted panel and pool with the pre-fluid leaking freely from his spike.

“Such an obedient soldier.” Lord Galvatron murmured, his powerful engine purring as his spike slid along Cyclonus’s still-primus-damn-sealed panel. “Beg for me.” Lord Galvatron revved his engine, and Cyclonus let out a low moan. Lord Galvatron loved it when he knew Cyclonus or Scourge was as eager to interface as he was.

“Please.” Cyclonus rasped, valve clenching harder on nothing as Lord Galvatron slid his spike in slow, deliberate stroke along the length of his panel. “Mercy, Lord Galvatron.”

“Tell me what you need.” Lord Galvatron commanded, fingers dipping into the cables at the join of Cyclonus’s pelvic span and inner thigh. So close to his array, and yet so painfully, deliciously far.

“You.” Cyclonus replied instantly. “I need your spike, Lord Galvatron, please. Only you can sate me.” his frame shuddered, and he wondered briefly why he was running so hot so fast. Then Lord Galvatron’s fingers caught a wire and _tugged_, and all thought flew from Cyclonus’s processor as he moaned loudly, helm dropping to the ground and aft pressing higher into the air, thighs trembling as he spread them wider, further baring his modesty panel to his Lord. “Please. _Please_.” his vocaliser crackled as Lord Galvatron tugged on the wire again, and then his Lord’s other fingers were pressing at latches he could never reach on his own, prising his modesty panel loose from its setting.

His spike shot to full pressure in an instant, and he could smell his own valve lubricants as they splashed to the path below. Galvatron let the panel fall, and the hand buried in Cyclonus’s cabling pulled away to grip at his hip instead. “Please.” he moaned through static as the tip of Lord Galvatron’s spike rubbed against his anterior node, and his Lord obliged. The thrust was hard and fast, and Cyclonus cried out as he was abruptly filled, errors popping up on his HUD that he didn’t have the spare processing power to parse, every byte going towards the sensation of Lord Galvatron’s spike in him, Lord Galvatron’s hands on his hips, the heat of Lord Galvatron against the back of his wings.

Interfacing with Lord Galvatron was never anything less than the height of pleasure, and yet somehow this was _more_ than anything they’d shared before. Lord Galvatron rested only a nano-klik before drawing his hips back and slamming them back in, hard and rough, blitzing Cyclonus’s nodes with each powerful thrust and making him see stars. His fans screamed, blasting the pebbled path below him with scorching hot air, and just as he approached the cusp of overload Lord Galvatron went still. Cyclonus cried out wordlessly, and when glyphs escaped him he threw his field wide, filling it with desperation and lust as he trembled in his Lord’s gasp, valve calipers clenching tight on the spike that spread them wide.

“Good.” Lord Galvatron rasped, a low moan slipping from his vocaliser as his frame shuddered, spike shifting ever so slightly in Cyclonus’s valve. “You are not- not to overload before I do.”

“Yes, My Lord.” Cyclonus choked out, and Lord Galvatron ground his array against Cyclonus’s aft, the slight jolting and shuddering of his frame adding a strange unpredictability to his usually so carefully controlled motions. Cyclonus moaned freely as Lord Galvatron pleasured himself using his valve, spike grinding deep enough that, if Cyclonus lowered his chest just a little further, it might brush his ceiling node. That would surely push him right into overload though, and he had been ordered not to do that just yet.

“So- obedient.” Lord Galvatron grunted, fingers digging harder into Cyclonus’s hips, surely leaving dents in the armour. “And so-” he moaned, hips snapping forward hard enough to make Cyclonus gasp. “_beautifully_ tight.”

Cyclonus moaned, calipers clenching tighter at his Lord’s words, and Lord Galvatron’s overload caught them both by surprise. Cyclonus jolted into overload himself when hot, charged transfluid splashed against his ceiling node, and after that things got... hazy. Lord Galvatron fragged into him wildly, without heed for rhythm of caution, the force of his thrusts dropping Cyclonus to the ground completely save where Lord Galvatron’s hands on his hips and spike in his valve kept him elevated. He overloaded again, and again, and again, pleas for _more_ and _harder_ spilling static-laced from his vocaliser between wanton moans. And yet, for every overload pulled from his frame, he swore Lord Galvatron had two. His transfluid pumped into Cyclonus with each one, swelling his gestation tank nearly to the point of buckling the armour above it before his Lord’s spike began to lose pressure.

Lord Galvatron’s vocaliser was more static than anything else, but Cyclonus knew his Lord’s frustration well enough to identify it even in this state. He tried to rise to his knees, and quickly dropped back down to rest his weight on his elbows when the transfluid within him shifted downwards. Lord Galvatron hated when they wasted his transfluid. “My-” his vocaliser was almost entirely static, and Cyclonus reset it with a grimace. “My Lord?” he shifted onto his side, twisting as he did so to face Lord Galvatron. To say he’d not been prepared for what he saw would’ve been an understatement bordering on criminal.

Lord Galvatron, a consummate spike mech, eternally composed even in the berth, knelt trembling over a pile of round, soft-looking... _things_ of varying sizes. They were covered in the same lubricant which stained his Lord’s violently trembling thighs, lubricant that was conspicuously absent from the fingers frantically plunging in and out of his quivering valve.

“My Lord.” Cyclonus spoke louder this time, and Lord Galvatron’s overbright optics focused on him. He rolled onto his back, hips raised slightly, and turned so his helm was nearest his Lord. “May I assist you?”

Lord Galvatron’s only reply was a low groan as his frame twitched violently, sparks dancing in the seams of his plating, but he moved closer until his knelt on the edges of Cyclonus’s wings, dry and clearly overworked valve hovering above Cyclonus’s mouth. His hands shook as he lifted them to rest on his Lord’s lovely thighs, and Lord Galvatron dropped onto his face without warning. He moaned low in his throat, and slid his glossa once again into his Lord’s valve. This time there was nothing to stop it just past the first caliper, this time he was able to stretch it deep, as far as it would go. Again the tip brushed the edge of something, but this time it was smooth and curved. Big, too; at a guess, wide enough to stop up his Lord’s valve completely, preventing the lubricant from passing to ease its way out. If his Lord had any lubricant left, after the many, many overloads he’d had.

Cyclonus circled the blockage with his glossa, flicking it back into his mouth to slick up again as he worked his fingers into the gaps in his Lord’s armour. If it was a wire that caused such pleasure as he’d felt earlier, then Lord Galvatron must possess it as well, and Cyclonus prided himself on serving his Lord to the very utmost of his ability. Lord Galvatron’s hips rocked against his face, calipers clenching rhythmically to force the intrusion down and out of his frame. Rather much, Cyclonus supposed, like going through an emergence with undersized eggs. Only, Lord Galvatron had never carried, and probably wouldn’t’ve carried eggs even if he had. Regardless, it was his duty to ensure that his Lord was freed of whatever these things were before his frame damaged itself.

Lord Galvatron overloaded before the orb had descended even half the distance to his valve opening, and Cyclonus stomped down the instinct to flinch away from the shower of sparks that leapt from his Lord’s seams. There was no transfluid or lubricant, only Lord Galvatron’s quaking frame and sparking seams, his Lord’s wheezing vents and roaring fans. Cyclonus redoubled his efforts to ease the orb along, and Lord Galvatron overloaded once more before whatever it was reached his valve entrance. His Lord _howled_ and Cyclonus brought a hand down from his Lord’s hip to catch the object. It was heavier than it looked, spark-hot and vaguely sticky. He let it roll off to join the rest and returned to his duties. However long it took, however many dry, sparking overlords he had to wring from his Lord’s trembling frame, Cyclonus would see this through.

**Author's Note:**

> They both lose count of how many overloads it takes to get the last of the seeds out of Galvatron, and promptly pass out on absolute fumes when they’re done. One of the Sweeps finds them later, they’re carried in, and in the morning Scourge calls them both ridiculous.
> 
> The things in Galvatron’s valve were a the seeds of a plant designed by Unicron specifically to capture Galvatron’s attention. The carrier fluid they’re implanted in hardens at first to make sure they don’t fall out of the mechs’ valve, then softens up on exposure to lubricants. The seeds then absorb the lubricants and convert them into fuel for their initial grown spurt. Galvatron did a dumb and stuffed himself full of like, six sets at once.


End file.
